P Deutermann - Spider mountain

They went in at a dead run, ears flat, tails out, back legs pumping hard, and hit him simultaneously in the back of the legs and the small of his back. He went down like a trapdoor, with a shepherd tugging hard on each shirtsleeve and in opposite directions, totally immobilizing him. I got up and sprinted across the plateau, trying to minimize my time in the open. When I got to the man I relaxed because he was so obviously petrified I knew he wasn’t going to be a problem. I kicked the rifle away from his reach and stabilized the dogs. Keeping my own rifle on him, I told him to crawl into the mine, where I secured him on the ground with his own belt, socks, and shoelaces, the belt for his hands behind his back, his socks and shoelaces to tie his feet together. Then I knelt down beside him and pushed his face into the dirt.

“Listen to me,” I said, as calmly as I could. “You keep still. No matter what happens outside. If I see you move, I’ll send these dogs back in here to eat your face, and then I’ll cave this sucker in right on top of you, got it?”

He whimpered something, his eyes still squeezed shut. It was unlikely that the shepherds would eat the guy’s face, unless there was a really good sauce. But he didn’t know that. He was heavily bearded like most of them were, but he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Thin, bony face, bad complexion, snaggled, yellow, meth-rotted teeth. And so scared I could smell urine. I left him ten feet back into the mine itself, which was a square tunnel hewn out of the rock and supported by heavy side beams pushing up corrugated tin sheets on the roof. The tunnel went back and down as far as I could see into the dusty gloom, and I had no inclination to go any farther in. It smelled of damp rot and chalk, and the floor had about a two-inch layer of fine dust covering the two rails running down the center.

I took his black hat with me and picked up his rifle on my way out. I put the hat on, downed the shepherds at the entrance to watch my prisoner, and went far enough out on the plateau for my hat and rifle to show if the guys down on the dam took a look, which they did about two minutes later. I could see the binocs flashing up my way, so I tipped my head forward, hopefully showing the hat and rifle the guy down there was expecting to see.

But my original problem was still there-how to warn the good guys inside that Mingo was having them surrounded. Then I had an idea: send a messenger.

I scuttled back to the entrance of the mine. The dogs were sitting on either side of the black hat, who was being very still. I walked over to him and cut off his bindings. He opened his eyes. Then, standing behind the guy, I flashed my teeth at Frack, who flashed back and growled. It was just a thing he’d learned to do, but it was really impressive. Frick just watched. I did it again and the guy in the dirt whimpered. I told him to stand up, carefully, with no sudden moves. He got to his feet and it looked like it was taking everything he had not to bolt- into the mine.

“I have a job for you,” I told him. “Mingo’s down there at Sheriff Hayes’s cabin, right?”

He nodded, while trying not to stare at Frack. When he did look at Frack, I flashed my teeth again over his shoulder and got a truly gratifying response from the big black dog.

“I want you to go down there and tell Mingo that federal cops are on this hill. I’m not the only guy out here watching you people, understand?”

He nodded again, still keeping an eye on Frack, who was waiting to play some more. “Yessir,” he croaked.

“You go down there and tell him to get his people off this land or there’s going to be a war, and the guys with the machine guns are going to win.”

He blinked. “Machine guns?”

“I’ve got one right out there under that trestle, so when you walk down this hill, you remember that.”

“Yessir.”

“I can put a hundred rounds through your spine in ten seconds,” I boasted, and he nodded. He glanced down at his feet.

“Shoes?” he asked, and I told him no. Based on the looks of him, I figured he’d been barefoot for a good part of his life already. I gave him his hat back, but not his rifle, and he limped his way across the slag debris and the gravel and then started down the hill. I resumed my position under the trestle, and he did not look back. The dogs watched him go. Frick seemed a little disappointed. Maybe she would have eaten his face. Perhaps it was all the food bits in his beard.

I surveyed the dam with the spotting scope and finally saw the binocular man again, then saw him start when he caught sight of his barefoot buddy making his way down the hill from the mine. I wondered if they’d shoot him. If they did, that would be a warning, but I preferred getting my little message in front of Mingo if that was possible. He might or might not believe it, but his posse would.

My messenger made it up onto the porch, took his hat in hand, and disappeared around to the front door. A few minutes later he came out with Mingo, who went down the front steps at a quick walk, his erstwhile shooter hobbling behind him. Neither Carrie nor the Big brothers were visible, but I could just see Sheriff Hayes standing on the edge of the front porch, watching Mingo go. I swung the big scope around to follow Mingo, who had reached his car. He said something to the barefoot man, who nodded repeatedly, and then Mingo got in. I could see him pick up his radio mike. He said something, dropped the mike, and drove off. The barefoot man walked after the cruiser, hopping from one sore foot to the other on the stony surface.

I could just imagine what Mingo had said to him. I swung back to the far edge of the dam and pretty soon saw three, not two, men slink off into the underbrush. Then I heard a screen door slam and looked back at the cabin. Carrie was standing out on the back porch, looking up at the mine. I waved from my hide under the trestle. She waved back and then indicated I should come down there. I flashed my hand, five fingers extended, at her twice, indicating ten minutes. She understood and went back into the house. I saw Bigger John out on the side porch now. He had his gun out and was watching the area in front of the house while sucking up a quick cancer stick.

I waited for the full ten minutes. If those guys were leaving and not just repositioning, I wanted time for them to get gone so they couldn’t see that the “army” of revenuers consisted of one guy and his dogs. I spent the entire time searching with the scope for any signs of humans in the underbrush who could achieve a line of fire when I came down off this hill. I didn’t find anybody, which of course wasn’t the same as saying there wasn’t anyone up there in all those tall weeds. Then I finally went down there.

They were all gathered on the side porch by the time I walked up. I put the dogs on a long down in the yard along the side of the house and the scope on the steps leading up to the porch. Then I walked up onto the porch, my rifle in my left hand. I was focused on Hayes, whose face was haggard. I walked right past Carrie and the brothers and stopped in front of the sheriff.

He looked like he half-expected me to hit him. Perceptive man.

“You part of a conspiracy to sell little girls to offshore perverts?” I asked, not realizing I’d cocked my right fist.

He raised his own hands in a defensive gesture and said he could explain.

“Cam,” Carrie said from behind me. “Let’s take it inside. Those people may still be out there.”

“Answer me,” I said to Hayes. “I saw you and Mingo at the hospital the other night, where he was delivering what looked like an unconscious child.”

He looked down at the floorboards and took a deep breath. “It was Mingo’s scheme,” he said finally. “I was paid to look the other way.”